The Portland daily press., 1887-04-23

He was subject to violent headaches, and
the sole relief he could set was Inv the use of
chloroform. He was as bright as dollar
anu as iull OF fun as it is possible for human
NATURE 10 be. Rich or poor was all the same
s 20 Miles okellly, and, rich or poor, he was
xounu aeau IN the AstOr House, his neau
form. 'i"'su WV"
p AS write | receive notification of the
dIess CluD that meeting OF a committee
aPipClnted 10 dedicate the cemetery plot,
maete suitable monument has recently DeeI
erected, VIII be held this afternoon. That
reminds me Of another tragedy in journal
isu,, ana OF man so well known that may
ne Ne paTaoned for referring to him by name.
n nj Jonn u. Wool, long known in metro
dent of the Press Club and avery good
sspeclnen OF the oddities who make success
endeavor
oo me doctor was known as the great AmeIi-
t tSn fS9naenser, but he was better known as
'hS friend OF the poor.
no fellow ever went to him in distress
VIII wlthout receiving aid and comfort. No line
was ever written by him which intention
any caused heart-burning. Jealousy ana
IHM a ao9nu no resting place in bis pos9liil,
trust, honest among his fellow-men, careless
only OF himself, and therefore like most men
OF tnat calibre with ups and downs so con-
spicuous as to warrant the term mountain
He had large salaries and he had none.
none.
But ne always had friends, and on that
colu night, when icy blocks choked our. nv
ers ana brutal winds chilled every inch pc
tween Manhattan Island and the apex OF
heavens dome above it, when he walked
Stralght down the street and into the river,
ne was no more himself than poor Gerry
fairileld was himself when he left his little
VIE 70 die alone in the miserable room Oh
that humble tenement
what an interesting chapter could be made
Oh the tragedies in journalism, and how aa-
mlraDiy and Interestingly and instructlvely
Il might be supplemented by a chapter on
tne tragedies Of literary life in general.
Tragedy doesn't necessarily imply pistols
knives, blood, death.
There are walking tragedies.
Foor pale ghosts Of regulations, gaant,
tiimsy spectres of once sturdy lighters can
be found here and there upon the fringes OF
the globe, along the alleys in the rear OF our
great newspaper establishments, crouching
on the staircases humbly biting the thumb
OF waiting at the door of journalistic eleya-
tors, seeking timidly small recompense fol
literary effort, certain to be thrown out.
War has its victims?
| Yes. But the ordinary soldier goes into
the army for pay, for rest, for refuge.
Commerce has its victims?
| Yes. But men go into trade for money,
very few for fame. L think it will be con-
| coded that with few exceptions the motive
which impels men and women to labor In
| literary fields is something better than
| money.
One bit of testimony along that line OF
| thought is, that although many writers make
much money, very few of them save it. The
| rich men in journalism are not the best writ
| ers. There are men who would have shone
| butte as brilliantly behind the calico cou nteI
| in the button factory or in the whiskey still
| 1t doesn't make them any less men because
| they have the faculty of money saving, mol
am l such an idiot as to assume for a mo.
| ment that because man in journalism or in
literary life is rich, he is untitled for his call
| ing; but | do contend that the men who
have amassed great fortunes in Journal SIN
| and in literary life are the publishers rather
than the editors and writers. Take the Har-
pers, for instance. What better illustration
| could be asked than that? Not one of them
writes. They are all rich, but how many OF
| their editors and writers have money to the
| fore? Take the case of Conant, of whom
| was with the Harpers the greater part of his
| literary life; although he served them with
intelligent vitality, bringing to their use rare
| qualities OF mind and Of heart and exceptional
| culture, he hadn'ta dollar when he went away
nor has his wife and family today save what
ton of brain and hand. The first managing
editor of the New York Times, whom | re
member, was Alexander c. Wilson. He
died in poverty. The managing editor Of
the New York World was David G. Croley
He is working today, as is his wife, Jennie
| June-cOnstant, indefatigable, never resting
are they, working today as much as thel
did thirty years ago, when they began. The
| writers on the Herald, can you find me one
| with money? Those on the World, can YOU
find me one with money? The writers OIL
the Times, the Tribune and Sun, not one Of
them with money as men in commerce.
| speak of money. Now and then you will
| find man who, from his salary of $50 OF
| 500 week, saves $40 or $50: but how
under heavens can he think that the saving.
so accumulated could be even a pittanee IL
the eye of the world?
And once used up they are done with.
A squeezed sponge is better than they, be-
cause the sponge may fill up again-theN
| can't. They are best illustrated by squeeZ
ed orange, for which there is no reyivieation
| no restoration whatever. Raymond, thu
brainy editor of the New York Times. dice
| comparatively poor. Horace Greeley wa
proverbially untitled for manipulation il
| money affairs, and Charles A. Dana is TODAY
| a rich man-not because he has mercantile
head, but because he had brains enough t
utilize opportunities and to utilize good men
| He had in his business office the best bust
ness manager known at the time in journal
ism, lifelong friend, devoted comrade
and Mr.. Dana's wealth today comes to hin
not because he earned it as writer, but be
cause he had in his staff a man who knew
where to place the good things that Dana
and his accomplished young men, as he call.
them. prepared from day to day. No, indeed
as a rule, when you find the man at the heaC
of the paper rich, you will find him not
| writer
Charles A. Dana is the one exception.
Mr.. Bennett never dreams of writing. Why
should he?